


The Case of the Problematic Pheasant

by calrissian18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Crack, Explicit Harry/Ginny, Jealousy, M/M, Murder Mystery, POV First Person, Possessive Harry, Premature Ejaculation, Private Investigator Harry, Smoking Draco, past Draco/Blaise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:03:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One week. One case. A whole helluva lot of trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Problematic Pheasant

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the dracotops_harry fest on livejournal. It is crack noir. Yes, _noir_ , and a bit lighter on crack than the prompt implies. Somehow explicit het got in there - Harry/Ginny - and it would not leave no matter how much I shook my fist at it.
> 
> Neither Harry nor I can draw.
> 
> My prompt was, in case you're curious: "Harry Potter talks to snakes. Draco Malfoy talks to peacocks. Together they fight crime!"

  
♕ Sunday ♕  


  
  
It was a Sunday afternoon when he strolled into my office, all blond hair and long limbs and cool as you please. The dust still hung in the air from a weekend without use and the place felt stuffy. I normally didn’t open my doors again until Monday but an owl from an old enemy had got my curiosity itching. I still don’t know what made him choose me, but I did know he had a set of pins on him that would make a burlesque queen green with envy and a honey of an emerald dangling around his neck. It drew my eye to his collarbone and wouldn’t let it leave. I wasn’t a man who made jewelry his business but even I knew it wasn’t any costume scrap. Someone had wanted to make him think twice before breaking their heart.  
  
The chairs were mismatched; his red and stately and mine black and spindly. I think that more than anything made him wonder if he was doing the right thing in coming to me. I could see the second thoughts written all over his face. For the first time, I thought this might not be some sort of trap, with the rest of the outfit waiting out in the hall to make my life miserable. Well, more miserable.  
  
He didn’t wait for my invitation to sit and light up a fag, daring me with grey eyes that made my insides twist up to say something. I didn’t bother, just opened my desk drawer and pulled out a well-kept ashtray. The grieving smoked, and the grieving often sought out morally indifferent private detectives after the Aurors failed to deliver on that protecting and serving rot. He sneered at me from across the way and even that made him look like some kind of vision. His long fingers tapped his cigarette over the carpet and he spelled the ash away before it hit the floor, apparently just to be contrary. Or maybe to prove he was unique – but I already knew that. No other bloke could make my tongue wag.  
  
I couldn’t have said a harsh word to him about it if my life depended on it. Then I had to remind myself who I was looking at. Harsh words were all we’d ever had between us. Of course that was before he looked like a pin-up model. What I knew of him seemed like it’d come from some sort of past life now. I frowned at myself. I never thought I was the type to go dumb over a pair of pretty eyes.  
  
I pulled myself back to him. I watched his lips as they clung to his fag and blew out the smoke. They were mobile and a shade of pink that begged to be darkened. Those kind of looks came expensive. That emerald around his neck confirmed it. I mentally tallied up all the Galleons in my vault, wondering how long I could keep him in those emeralds before I broke even.  
  
I shook myself out of it at the roll of his eyes.  
  
The exasperation was heavy in the weight of his gaze. “Potter, are you ever going to actually _say_ anything or do people simply sit here long enough in silence that they solve the crime themselves?” Merlin, but his voice had changed. It’d deepened and lost much of its drawl. Now his speech was tight and perfectly enunciated. I wondered what else he could do with that mouth. Fuck, someone must’ve put something in my drink. I eyed it warily. He tilted his head to the side. “Have you gone soft in the head, Golden Boy?”  
  
I was busy poking at my tepid tea with the end of my wand and was startled by the words. I scowled at him. “Shut up, Malfoy. I was doing something.” Gorgeous, interrupting bastard.  
  
Malfoy smirked. “Drooling in public?”  
  
I remembered how much I hated the rotten bugger in that moment. It cooled my attraction to him, though it didn’t eradicate it completely. Small mercies were better than none, I supposed. I placed my wand on my desk and turned my attention full on him, ready to solve his case and get him out of here. I was also trying not to surreptitiously check my chin. He was probably just being a prat. There wasn’t any drool, just a fit bloke who liked to make me feel like twice-trampled rubbish.  
  
He walked over to my drinks cabinet with a swagger that said he was used to being in charge and he could snap up my location, title and building if he decided to. He already acted as if he owned everything in my office, including me. He tipped back a bottle of bourbon I kept on the bar. I scrubbed at my chin while he had his back turned. Dry as a bone. Prick. He scoffed at the six pounds fifty label. “Cheap drinks generally get the guilty to sing like stool pigeons then?” he asked rhetorically as he poured himself a tumbler of the shite. I was surprised he knew from Muggle money the cost of things, though he seemed like a man who spoke money in all languages.  
  
It said how badly he needed it if he was willing to drink that sewage. “Suits me fine,” I retorted anyway. As he poured I couldn’t help but notice his hand was shaking like a leaf. Whatever he was here for, it was real and I already knew I’d take whatever case he gave me. And not just because he looked like he’d gone out and got himself some Veela blood in the time since we’d seen each other last.  
  
“Blaise Zabini is dead.” He turned around and nodded at my unspoken question. “You knew him. He was in our year. Slytherin.” A few strands of that white blond hair that made him unmistakable in a crowd swept across his forehead.  
  
I vaguely remembered a dark-skinned boy that hung around Malfoy. They’d never seemed too close. “And you want to know who did it?” I wagered. That would be swell, close quarters and long hours as we tried to ferret out the guilty.  
  
Malfoy shook his head and his hand absentmindedly reached up and closed around the emerald around his neck. “I know who did it. I want you to prove it.”  
  
I leaned back in my chair, trying to reason it through. If he knew the killer then there had to be some reason the Aurors weren’t touching it; corporate head honcho or political bigwig were my best guesses. I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What exactly are we talking about here?”  
  
Malfoy took a sip of my cheap bourbon and pulled a face. He set it down carefully on the edge of my desk. “Blaise was murdered. I already know it and I already know that it was his wife who did the murdering. She found out about us only days before he died.”  
  
I was just kicking up my feet when the term ‘ _us_ ’ made me cough then splutter. My heels missed the edge of my desk and nearly sent me careening to the floor. Malfoy perked a condescending eyebrow. Right. _Us_. Malfoy was a pouf. Didn’t affect me at all. I slapped my hand down on the arm of my chair to get myself back on track. Adultery. Wasn’t that always the way? I couldn’t deny that it made for pretty timing. “What makes you so sure?”  
  
Malfoy reclaimed his seat with a grace and elegance that I thought was reserved for royalty and dames like Celestina Warbeck. “The Aurors are saying it was an accidental drowning but Blaise was terrified of water.” Malfoy couldn’t quite keep the dislike out of his tone as he mentioned the Aurors. “Something about his mother’s second husband.”  
  
Malfoy’s fingers were playing about the rim of his abandoned glass. I was trying my damnedest not to notice how long and fine they were. “And how did his wife, Mrs., ah—”  
  
“Pansy,” Malfoy supplied readily. His eyes were wide and bright. Someone was eager. “Pansy Zabini, née Parkinson.”  
  
Now that was unexpected. “You think Pansy Parkinson killed him?” I clarified. Weren’t they mates, maybe even more based on my memory of Malfoy’s date at the Yule Ball?  
  
Malfoy glared at me. “I know she did, aren’t you listening?”  
  
I refrained from rolling my eyes. Mostly. “And how do you know that, Malfoy?”  
  
Malfoy’s fingers pulled back into his lap and he shifted in his seat as though one of his legs had fallen asleep. “Someone saw her do it.”  
  
I leaned forward eagerly. “You have a witness?”  
  
More shifting. “Yes.”  
  
“And you haven’t gone to the Aurors with this because?” I pulled back suspiciously.  
  
Malfoy steepled his fingers. “I did.” He played with the proportions, making his steeple alternately short and fat to tall and long. “They seemed to think it was a bit… far-fetched.”  
  
I frowned. “And who is this witness?”  
  
“Glynny Todgers,” Malfoy said with confidence.  
  
At least there was something else here he seemed to be sure of. I pulled out a pad of paper and wrote the name down, resolutely _not_ giggling. I knew if Ron were here then I wouldn’t have managed it. “And where can I find this Glynny?” I asked.  
  
“At Malfoy Manor.”  
  
I perked an eyebrow. “She lives with you?”  
  
“You could say that,” Malfoy answered evasively. I glared at him and he took a deep, galvanizing breath and said calmly, “Glynny’s a peacock.”  
  
That was the last time I went to the pub to watch Cannons’ games with Ron. All his bloody yelling about the Cannons just biding their time and Gudgeon pulling it out before the end was starting to do my hearing in. I thought Malfoy’d said something about peacocks. I gave him an apologetic grimace. “Sorry?”  
  
“Glynny. Is. A. Peacock,” Malfoy enunciated slowly in that cultured voice of his. My jaw may have tried to meet up with the tabletop for a moment to confer that we’d both been present for one of the barmiest statements ever made when Malfoy’s expression darkened and he said through a clenched jaw, “Don’t you dare look at me like that, Potter. I’m telling you, Glynny saw it.”  
  
If not for Malfoy’s determined expression, I would have thought he was trying to put one over on me. Even so, all I could manage was a dismissive, “Pull the other one, Malfoy.”  
  
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not taking the piss, Potter.”  
  
“And she… told you all about it, did she?” I was trying not to mock, or laugh, or cry. Really I was. I know it probably didn’t look that way from Malfoy’s perspective.  
  
Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest and sunk down in his chair. He looked away and muttered sourly, “I’m not mad.”  
  
“Of course not,” I agreed stoutly. I couldn’t quite suck the sarcasm out of it in time. I refrained from telling him to turn the record over so we could hear the other side, but only because I knew he wouldn’t understand the reference.  
  
Malfoy chose to ignore me entirely and only sneered as he went on. “Glynny said _he_ saw Pansy cast a Cheering Charm on Blaise and lead him into the lake behind the manor. Blaise never learned to swim.”  
  
“And how did she say this exactly? Did she cluck it at you?” I was sniggering, I knew I was. I was half-convinced that this was all some sort of prank engineered for my amusement. Never mind that Malfoy had no sense of humor or that he would never do anything for _my_ benefit anyway.  
  
Malfoy rubbed at his forehead as though a headache was coming on. “You’ve obviously never heard a peacock before. I wish they used something so subtle as a cluck.”  
  
I crumpled up the paper I’d written Glynny Todgers on, the name really should’ve pointed to it being a hoax, and tossed it into the bin. “Malfoy,” I snorted, “did you honestly expect me to believe this?”  
  
“You speak to snakes,” Malfoy accused, eyeing the paper ball with a heated gaze. He tore his gaze away and stared at me with his eyes narrowed to slits. “I figured it’d be less of a stretch for you to believe it.”  
  
“Mine’s a real thing,” I told him. “They even have a word for it.” Though his gaze held such betrayal that I was beginning to squirm a bit.  
  
“Pavusmouth,” Malfoy muttered sullenly. He stood up, jutting out his chin as though to say he’d lost none of his dignity despite the fact that I’d tried to shred it. In his head anyway. “Fine, don’t help me. I’ll prove it myself.”  
  
He was at the door when I decided I couldn’t let him leave. Even if he _was_ mad or this was all some elaborate ploy to make a fool out of me, or perhaps worse. “All right, say I do believe you,” I blurted out quickly. “We’re going to need something more than a peacock’s say so.”  
  
Malfoy turned around with a sharp smile that practically had VICTORY written all over it. I swallowed down my doubts and we got to planning. We agreed to meet at Malfoy Manor around noon the next day so I could meet Glynny. I _was_ trying to take this seriously. If only because Malfoy _really_ seemed to hate it when I giggled. He was hesitant to discuss anything further as he had a meeting with his solicitor that abutted the time ours was ending.  
  
I held open the door for him and he pressed a hand that felt like silk to the inside of my elbow and leaned into me with a low, “Thank you, Potter.” He was through the door in the next instant while my whole body shuddered. I lingered there to watch him leave. He’d been out of the hallway a full minute by the time I managed to get back to my seat.  
  
I opened my beaten-up ledger and wrote in the headline for tomorrow’s date:  


 

12:00 pm

Malfoy Manor

  
The thought of our next meeting set a flutter of anticipation where my throat met my chest to flapping. I looked down at his mostly untouched drink, plucked it up and downed it. I was tempted to lick round the edge just to be sure my mouth touched where his had. Malfoy had probably poisoned me with some kind of lust philter or I had Nargles or something equally as awful. _And fictional_ , my brain helpfully supplied.  
  
I argued back that I was a good, _normal_ bloke and I simply didn’t brood on stuff like this. Then I realized I was having it out with my subconscious and was instantly reassured. Clearly I had gone barmy ages ago and was only just noticing it with the Malfoy bit added in.  
  
I turned and stared out my window, watching the passersby that looked like little more than wind-up figurines and tried to clear my head. I would have to solve this one but quick if I expected to regain any of that pesky sanity I’d once had, and I had no doubt I could do it. If there was one thing I’d learned as a private detective it was that murder was never perfect. I just had to get my head on straight.  
  
And then it came to me. I snatched up my Floo powder, cast _Incendio_ , stuck my head into the flames and called out for East London.  


 

♕

  
  
My mind was still on Malfoy and his sudden good looks when the bartender, who smelled of strong Firewhisky and other people’s problems, leaned close and said, “Back to this one, eh?”  
  
I turned in the direction he was looking and got an eyeful of the girl I shoved aside every chance I got. I was far from the only bloke looking either. Her sundress was a pastel blue and it bounced with her every step and she wore the action just like the dress, with an abundance of confidence and a coy smile on her attractive face.  
  
She had lost none of her radiance. She was still the first thing your eyes went to in a room and the last thing they left as you walked away. And there was a time when I had been jealous of the freckles on her skin for their closeness but now I was caught up in flashing grey eyes and the smirks of a man who’d made my childhood hell.  
  
Her fiery hair spilled over onto her shoulders as she slid into the seat next to mine and offered me that secretive smile that had a knack for driving the boys wild.  
  
The bartender, Mickey, who now knew me far too well, gestured to her. “Don’t mind him, he’s just narrating his own life. He’ll be back in a few moments, he can quite gabby in there. Can’t keep it up for long though.”  
  
She flashed that mega-watt grin on him now and I could’ve sworn I saw a blush flit over his cheeks. It was hard to believe that I was the one that’d caught her and tamed her. I was the only man she’d ever considered a future with and I was the only one that didn’t want to give it to her. When I was younger I thought it would be us, I did, but the thought of settling into a life now when I hadn’t done any of the living yet left me cold. I wanted a few more years of mystery, drinking more than was good for my liver and spending weekends in pubs watching the Macaws thump the Bats. I wanted a bit more freedom than I’d been granted my first twenty-two years.  
  
I’d played their game for a while, joined up with the Aurors, dated the girl with marriage right around the corner and tap-danced for the Ministry but I was suffocating. Thankfully I realized it before the noose was pulled too tight. I threw off my shackles, set up my own P.I. firm, ditched the dame and told the Ministry precisely where they could stick it. Still, a broad like this one was hard to leave behind.  
  
Mickey poured her a Firewhisky. Ginny wasn’t the type of girl who drank from the bottle.  
  
Her skin was even more freckled than the last time I’d seen it. Daily Quidditch practice would do that. I wanted to tongue every dot. “Are you listening, Harry?” Her smile said she knew the answer and the way she leaned forward, breasts first, said she knew why.  
  
I smoothed my hand up her thigh under the bar. I was betting the underwear had been optional as usual and she had opted out. Her body shook and I knew she was relishing this. Moments like this gave her hope for an _us_ in future. Hell, it gave me hope too. Suddenly all I could hear was Malfoy’s crisp voice saying that dreaded word and I wanted to hold him between my thighs, to make him feel my cock hardening against his crack, to make him watch while I pleasured my fiery siren. And I would whisper in his ear, “I had an _us_ too, Malfoy.”  
  
Fuck, I was _hard_. Harder than I’d been in ages. I could only hope hearing the word from my mouth would be as upsetting for him as it had been for me to hear it from his. I wanted to get him back for making me feel _jealous_ of him and his dead lover. I convinced myself it was the relationship I wanted and nothing more. And I could have the relationship anytime I decided to take it.  
  
Ginny reached down and gripped my fingers and her skirt all up in one and Apparated us to my flat. I’d deal with the fallout from that later. She was wet; I’d felt it in the pub but I wanted her on her knees first. I pushed her down and she went willingly, getting my cock out with teasing touches and not-quites until she finally sprung me.  
  
My dick was thinking for me, making me rougher but happier for it. I wondered if my brain shouldn’t take a backseat to it for a while. My dick wouldn’t agonize over wanting to bend Malfoy over my desk, it would’ve just bent him over my desk.  
  
Fuck.  
  
That’s why we didn’t let the dick do all the thinking. I was not going to think about some blond berk while I had one of the most gorgeous women I’d ever laid eyes on sucking me off. Was I? I kind of was. I closed my eyes and gripped her hair, which was almost too blonde under my fingers. Fuck, no. I wasn’t doing this. I was with Ginny, not Malfoy. I opened my eyes. Malfoy’s own grey gaze sparkled back at mine, a smirk touching his lips. Lips I wanted spread around my cock. Lips that would be dark, dark, darker than they’d been in my office that afternoon.  
  
He knew what I was thinking and that smug look on his face only deepened. It was the same look he’d had when he’d leaned into me as he was leaving. It was a look that said he knew something I didn’t. I grabbed the back of his head and shoved him further onto my cock. Fuck, I wanted him.  
  
He pulled back and coughed, wiping his dark, swollen mouth with the side of his hand. “Fuck, Harry. You’re pulling out chunks of my hair you realize?”  
  
I blinked. Ginny was glaring up at me and caressing her throat. “Shit, Gin. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I helped her up. “I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t thinking.”  
  
Her stare was skeptical but she let it drop and pulled farther away from me. I wouldn’t be coming with her tonight. “You know how I feel about the rough stuff, Potter.” A smile curved her mouth in a way that was both cruel and sweet. “Whatever’s got you so worked up is going to have to be worked out on your own.”  
  
She Charmed a whistle into existence and handed me a red card. Dean Thomas’ influence was not strictly a force for good.  
  
She pushed me out of the way to leave and I backed her up against the door, kissing her nice and long and slow so she wouldn’t just remember what a pushy arse I’d been. I brushed the side of my face against her soft hair before I pulled away and she pushed my fringe back with her finger, tracing over the lightning bolt scar on my forehead softly. “I love you, Harry.”  
  
“Me too,” I told her as she slipped out of the flat. I knew why I kept coming back to her if I was honest with myself. It was that she accepted me, from the shite things I’d do to her to the missed Quidditch games and forgotten anniversaries. It’d taken her a while to get there, to realize I wasn’t the flawless hero she’d always expected and she’d admitted drunkenly on the night of her eighteenth birthday that it had been a ‘rather disappointing’ discovery.  
  
I leaned my back against the door and sighed. I scrubbed my hair off my forehead and decided to look over the files from the Blaise Zabini case Ron had owled over to me earlier that day for a third time. My erection hadn’t subsided any.  
  
And I was thinking about Malfoy again.  


 

  
♕ Monday ♕

  
  
I pushed up my glasses and rubbed at my eyes. I hadn’t slept well the night before as I’d lain awake anticipating this moment. Now that I was finally standing at the door to Malfoy Manor, I wished I was anywhere else. I hadn’t knocked yet. I was trying to decide which knock would sound the most dignified. So far I’d come up with two loud, solemn knocks.  
  
I’d already tried to convince myself this was ridiculous, grading my knocks, but I’d rejected that bit of common sense in favor of the nonsensical thought that two knocks was somehow disrespectful. Three was supposed to be some sort of important player in the numbers game, right? But didn’t it allude to something bad? Damn, why didn’t I listen to Hermione more? I’m sure she’d said something about this before. She’d said something about _everything_ before. I was pretty sure three and thirteen were in cahoots as unlucky numbers, maybe one too but I didn’t have time for that now. I wasn’t going to knock _once_. That was just madness. Oh. Or maybe that was daring. No one knocks just _once_ , I’d be setting myself apart, alluding to _myself_ as number one. Still, that sounded a bit cocky. But I was there to do a job, _everyone_ wanted me to be number one in this case. Wait. Seven. Seven was supposed to have magical properties or something, right? So I should knock seven times then. That would make me look intelligent but not cocky. But seven times was rather a lot, Malfoy could consider that annoying. I didn’t want that. His parents could consider that annoying too. I _did_ want that.  
  
“You’ve lost touch with all social norms, haven’t you?”  
  
I looked up, startled. Malfoy was watching me with some sort of glimmer in his eye. His shoulder was pressed to the doorframe, the picture of nonchalance. “What?” I answered quickly so he wouldn’t get ideas about what’d had me hesitating.  
  
“You’ve been standing here for five minutes or so, your face all scrunched up like you’re trying to remember how to act like a civilized human being. Hanging around the Weasel and the Mudbl-Muggleborn, I’m not surprised you’ve forgotten.”  
  
This arrogant little snot. Who the hell did he think he was? Here he was, asking for my help, talking to pheasants, and he had the audacity to insult my friends? My hands curled into fists and I gritted my teeth. “You’ll want to watch your ignorant, brainwashed,” _sexy_ , “mouth around me, Malfoy. Especially if you’re expecting my help here.” Shit, there was _so_ something wrong with me.  
  
Malfoy’s sexy mouth tightened and he pushed off the doorframe. “Perhaps that was uncalled for,” he said stiffly, acting as if his Mum was making him apologize for something he didn’t particularly feel all that sorry for. “It’s a habit I’ll be trying to break myself of while you’re here. Expect the occasional slip up.”  
  
I rolled my eyes. Just like a Malfoy, covering his arse in advance.  
  
“We’ll go around back,” Malfoy said, closing the door behind himself. It was the first time I’d registered what he was wearing. He had silver robes on but they were light and already pushed up at the elbows. Not to mention they were open in front, revealing a pair of dark gray trousers and a white vee-neck. Godric, he was gorgeous. I wondered again if I had the dough afford him.  
  
As he walked past me to lead the way, I brushed our bare arms together accidentally on purpose. I couldn’t fight the shiver that crawled up my spine nice and slow.  
  
I pulled out my ledger from my pocket and Spelled it back to original size. I tilted it away from Malfoy just in case he decided to turn back and look. In addition to my original note about the place and time, I may also have doodled a bit around five that morning while trying to make the clock on my kitchen counter tick faster. It had eventually turned away in disgust and refused to keep time again until I left.  
  
I stared down at the page.  


 

12:00 pm

Malfoy Manor  
Malfoy has a nice bum ♡  
  
guesses for what Malfoy’s lips might taste like:  
evil  
Lucius’s arse  
licorice wands  
I wonder if Malfoy sings in the shower

I wonder if I'll ever get to find out  
  
Go to bed, Harry

  
  
In the corner there was also a crude image of a peacock in a top hat gargling water while a snooty thought bubble above Malfoy’s stick figure head proclaimed, ‘Well. I say, old chap. Good show.’ Malfoy was also wearing a monocle.  


 

  
  
I realized that my eyes had slipped from the page and onto Malfoy’s _excellent_ bum and I pulled my head, forcibly, back around to the case. I’d worked jobs like this before. It was your basic he said she said, just with a talking pheasant thrown in. Malfoy had walked us around the left side of the manor when I finally asked, “Where’s the pheasant in question, Malfoy?”  
  
“Peacock,” Malfoy corrected without hesitation but with a lot of annoyance.  
  
“Right,” I said, unperturbed. “Where’s that then?” I didn’t really know the difference. I don’t think I’d ever seen a pheasant before. I wrote at the bottom of my doodle paper:  


 

Note to self: meet a pheasant. Name it IckleStickle.

Rub new experience in Malfoy’s stupid face.

  
Malfoy turned around. He seemed to be holding back a grin. “You going to interrogate him, are you?”  
  
I clasped my ledger to my chest and looked back at him with furrowed, unamused brows. “Interview,” I corrected, dusting off my lapels professionally. “She’s hardly a suspect.” Though maybe I ought to rethink that. Swans could get pretty nasty, who’s to say pheasants couldn’t do the same?  


 

Note to self: continue avoiding swans.

  
  
Malfoy walked away, chuckling, and came back with a bird as white as newly fallen snow whose head reached mid-thigh on me. She was a beautiful, majestic sort of thing really and I could only imagine what she looked like when she was showing. I squatted down to her level, eye to eye with the minx. Its gaze was shrewd and black and I could feel myself growing hot under the collar. “Where were you on March 15th, the date of Mr. Blaise Zabini’s so-called murder?”  
  
The bird opened its beak, tilted its tiny head and – as loudly as it could – it made the most ear-piercing caterwaul I’d ever heard.  
  
I fell back onto my arse and scrambled up to my feet, backing away and pointing a shaking finger at it. “I think your pheasant is dying, Malfoy.”  
  
Malfoy was grinning. I stared at his teeth. I wanted to lick them. “You’ve never heard a peacock’s call then, I take it?”  
  
I shook my head, carefully keeping my eye on the squirrely thing. I couldn’t believe how cavalier Malfoy was being about his pheasant friend. “That’s the sound of death.” I leaned down and clucked my tongue sadly. “You poor, tortured pheasant.” I gave it a sympathetic look and it lunged at me. I gave a rather undignified squawk before climbing back up to Malfoy’s height and telling him under my breath, “You might think about… putting it out of its misery, Malfoy.”  
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes.  
  
I straightened out my robes and tried to regain my cool. “What’d she say then?”  
  
“He,” Malfoy corrected easily. “Only the males have plumes like that.”  
  
I reared back. “Glynny is a _girl’s_ name.”  
  
Malfoy nodded. “My father named them _all_ girl’s names. I tried to talk him out of it but, well,” Malfoy’s eyebrows bounced and he rubbed at his forehead in an embarrassed and cagey sort of way, “he was determined. Of course, now that’s all they’ll answer to.”  
  
I immediately pictured Lucius Malfoy as that witch from _Cinderella_ , flouncing about his gardens and pointing a wand with a big star on the end at random pheasants while it spit out fairy dust at them and he said in a high-pitched voice, ‘And you shall be Glynny Todgers, and you’ll be Delia Snookerpaste, and you’ll be Miss Daisywillow Sparklybrains.’  
  
My head was a weird place.  
  
“What exactly is the point of this exercise, Potter? I could tell you whatever I like and you wouldn’t know the difference, would you?” He had his arms crossed over his chest and he looked quite put out. Could it be that he’d hoped I’d understand her too?  
  
“I suppose not,” I admitted uneasily. “We could use Veritaserum.”  
  
“You don’t trust me,” Malfoy put in grumpily.  
  
I resisted pointing out that he’d just given _the_ reason why I shouldn’t. I didn’t want to get him even sorer at me. “It’s part of the job, Malfoy. People lie.” Right. Part of the job. I’d work this straight down the line.  
  
“Will you use it on Pansy too?” The thought of that made him perk up a bit.  
  
“Uh,” I tried, “if she’ll consent.”  
  
Malfoy nodded once sharply. He led us in through the back and I tried not to look around too much. I did not like my memories of this place. He pushed open the door to a study of some sort, walked around a desk, reached into a shadowbox and pulled out a vial. He already had it uncorked and was poised to drink when he stopped and held it out to me. “You can test it if you like.”  
  
I nodded. I did the standard tests I’d learned in my Auror training and handed it back to him after confirming it was indeed Veritaserum.  
  
Malfoy sprinkled two drops onto his tongue, plopped himself into an armchair and said before I could open my mouth, “Only questions relating to the case, Potter.”  
  
I tried to look offended while mentally crossing a few items off my list. “Where were you on March 15th between the hours of one and three that afternoon?”  
  
Malfoy’s eyes had gone dull and his incredible voice had gone monotonous and blank. “I was in the dining room.”  
  
“Was anyone with you?”  
  
Malfoy’s head lolled. “My mother, Narcissa Malfoy.”  
  
“Who do you believe murdered Mr. Zabini?” Considering I was going to base my whole case around this, I probably should’ve asked that first. Somehow it had been more important to secure Malfoy’s innocence first.  
  
“His wife, Pansy Parkinson.” It was the first time I’d heard him say Pansy’s name without that eager little grin on his face to accompany it. In fact, all of his mannerisms and two Sickle words were gone. It was unsettling.  
  
“And why do you believe Mrs. Zabini killed her husband?”  
  
“She found out about the affair I was having with Blaise the week before he was killed. She forced Blaise to end things between us but she couldn’t let the infidelity be swept under the rug. She was punishing him any way she knew how, becoming the major shareholder at his accounting firm, creating an allowance for herself from his Gringott’s vault and outing him to all his friends. It was only getting more extreme. That afternoon when I went looking for Blaise, Glynny told me she’d seen Pansy lead him into the lake.”  
  
It was strange hearing someone give a speech like that entirely without emotion behind it. My skin crawled a bit. I had to clarify. “Glynny the _pheasant_?”  
  
“Peacock.”  
  
I waved him off. “Right. Glynny the _peacock_ told you this?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“ _How_ did she tell you this?”  
  
Malfoy was silent for a long moment while he twisted in his seat, his fingers clenching and unclenching on the arms of his chair. Finally he decided, “I don’t understand the question.”  
  
“How did you understand Glynny?” I rephrased.  
  
“I don’t know,” Malfoy answered. “To me, it sounds like he’s speaking English.”  
  
“Huh.” I scratched at my ledger with my thumbnail. “Is it regular English? I mean, is she British?”  
  
“He is British.”  
  
“Is it a cockney accent? It is, isn’t it?”  
  
Malfoy’s face screwed up. “It’s a bit… posh.”  
  
I laughed outright. I kind of, _really_ wanted to show him my doodle of him with a monocle talking to the top-hatted pheasant. But then I’d have to show him that I’d been thinking about his bum. And his mouth. And his showering. “Were you serious, you and Blaise?”  
  
Shit. That definitely wasn’t case-related.  
  
Malfoy was scowling and I could tell he was struggling against the Veritaserum. “It depends on your definition of serious, Potter,” he answered finally, looking triumphant.  
  
“Did you love him?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Malfoy popped up from his seat, stormed over to the shadowbox, pulled out another vial and downed its contents. “That was low, even for you, Potter.”  
  
“Sorry,” I told him, feeling cowed. I was also disappointed. And angry at myself for _being_ disappointed so I was more than willing to argue about it. “But I’ll need to be fully prepared before I face Pansy. Knowing it was a serious relationship she was breaking up gives her more of a motive.”  
  
“Whatever, Potter,” Malfoy spat out, which I knew meant I’d made a good point. “Salazar, I could use a smoke.” He turned around to stare at me. “Will you leave now?” he asked archly.  
  
That hurt. “Sure,” I said. I’d been hoping to sneak some more time with him and the disappointment I felt over not accomplishing that bordered on ridiculous.  
  
“Potter,” he called before I could leave. I turned back to him. “Why would you leave the Aurors when that’s all you and your orange sidekick dreamed of since Hogwarts?” he asked, looking as if it was the only piece of me he couldn’t fit into the puzzle.  
  
I shrugged. “Because it wasn’t what it promised to be. The Aurors were just another cog in the Ministry machine, tainted by all the same politics and bureaucratic nonsense as every other department but with this inflated sense of self-righteousness. I spent the majority of the time feeling like I’d been hexed to a desk filling out forms in triplicate instead of actually helping anyone.” Malfoy was watching me intently and it was an odd feeling, having Malfoy’s full attention without fearing that something nasty might be coming. “I was supposed to be doing something important, instead I was buried in paperwork and answering to truly idiotic superiors.”  
  
Could that possibly be respect in Malfoy’s eyes? “Perhaps there’s hope for you yet, Potter.”  


 

♕

  
  
Pansy Parkinson was still a bitch. The sky was still blue. And the snitch was still gold. All was right with the world. I was afraid she might have gone and grown a soul in the intervening years, or maybe just a healthy sense of shame. I needn’t have worried.  
  
Her elf finally seemed to have enough of her outright nastiness and brought me a cup of tea unprompted. Parkinson seemed to be restraining the kick she wanted to give it. Which was good as I wouldn’t have hesitated to hex her.  
  
She sneered at me. Her pug-like face looking more dastardly than I remembered. “How do you find it?”  
  
I smiled wanly and gestured to my cup. “I bet a bit of Firewhisky could get this up on its feet.” It was about the only thing I was sure of: that I needed a _lot_ more alcohol to deal with this woman.  
  
“Shame,” Parkinson said with an exaggerated frown. “We’ve just run out.” I could tell from the gleeful glint in her eyes that the whole second floor was probably chockfull of nothing but Firewhisky. Heartless bitch.  
  
“I’d ask that you take Veritaserum for this interview, Mrs. Zabini.” No sense beating around the bush. We both wanted me out of here five minutes before I entered. She froze and I waved my hand. “Fly it around the pitch a couple times, I’m not in any rush.” I tried to make myself look comfortable as I said it. At the very least that should get me an answer pretty much immediately.  
  
“You have no authority to make me take that.” I don’t know if she was asking or reminding.  
  
“None,” I agreed chummily.  
  
She reached out for the vial I’d pulled from my coat pocket. I hid my surprise badly: “You’ll do it? Really?”  
  
She eyed me coldly. “I’ve nothing to hide,” she proclaimed before dripping two drops onto her tongue.  
  
Her eyes lost their shine just as Malfoy’s had and she looked as if she’d been strung much tighter. The sharp angles on her odd lilac dress suddenly looked much less fluid to her body. I decided to start with a test question… to make sure she was really dosed of course. “Do you feel guilty over trying to offer me up to Voldemort in our seventh year?”  
  
She flinched horribly before giving me a look of such loathing that I nearly recoiled. “Yes,” she gritted out. It was almost unintelligible.  
  
“Right then.” I coughed and cleared my throat. “How did you find out about the nature of Zabini and Malfoy’s relationship?”  
  
Pansy’s head tipped forward and her short, ink dark hair swiped her jaw. “I’d known Blaise was having an affair for years. I simply hadn’t known whom with and I never would’ve thought Draco—Tracey Davis saw them snogging outside Draco’s flat. She informed me.”  
  
I frowned. They _had_ been friends. I knew the end of that sentence without her having to finish it. ‘ _I never would’ve thought Draco would do that to_ me.’ I wasn’t actually feeling badly for Pansy Parkinson, was I?  
  
“How did you react?”  
  
“I gutted Blaise’s vaults, emasculated him at work and at home, told all his friends and coworkers about his faggy tendencies and I personally Floo-called his mother to tell her of her son’s transgressions. I also demanded that he end the affair if he intended to keep our marriage intact.”  
  
Somehow I thought her speech would have been just as dispassionate with or without the potion pumping through her veins. I suddenly believed she could have knocked off her husband. “How did he respond to that?”  
  
Parkinson’s mouth did a strange interpretation of a smile. It looked more than a bit homicidal. “He refused. As I understood it, it was his intention to leave me for Draco.”  
  
My eyes widened. “Why didn’t he?” That was definitely up there in ‘Least Professional Questions Ever’, right under asking Malfoy if he’d loved Zabini.  
  
“He was sent to Minsk for a conference of some sort on Friday night and he didn’t return until that Thursday. That must have been why he was at Malfoy Manor, to tell Draco that he had chosen to stay with him.”  
  
She didn’t sound bitter, merely informative. I didn’t know if that was the Veritaserum or if that was just Parkinson’s way of handling it. Regardless, it was time to get down to business. “And were you at Malfoy Manor on the Thursday in question, March 15th?”  
  
Parkinson’s too-red lips offered up a succinct, “No.”  
  
My forehead wrinkled. I was stymied. Malfoy had seemed _so_ sure. He’d almost convinced me too. “Where were you on March 15th?”  
  
“Here, in my bedroom.”  
  
“Was anyone with you?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“And what were you doing here alone in your bedroom?” I hoped I’d caught her in _something_.  
  
“Burning all of Blaise’s possessions I could find.”  
  
She was so robotic about all of it. Like none of it had mattered to her. I knew Veritaserum didn’t do that, at least not in the dose she’d taken. “Did you love your husband, Mrs. Zabini?”  
  
She tensed but answered without resistance, “Yes.”  
  
“And you had no idea of the nature of Zabini and Malfoy’s relationship before Tracey Davis brought it to your attention?” This bit had also been sticking in my craw. Didn’t the woman always know these things?  
  
Parkinson recrossed her hands in her lap. “I knew there was a flirtation.” Her stare reminded me of a hawk’s. “I did not think it was ever physical.”  
  
“Did you know of Blaise Zabini’s fear of water?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Did you cast a Cheering Charm on Blaise Zabini on the 15th of March?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Just one more question, Mrs. Zabini. Did you kill your husband?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Well bugger.  


 

♕

  
  
Before I’d left the Zabini mansion, I’d managed to convince Parkinson to let me search the place and I’d found absolutely nothing of any relevance, only a few tame photos of Malfoy and Zabini with their arms wound around one another’s waists that were hidden beneath a loose floorboard.  
  
I realized as I was leaving through the big oak doors that Parkinson had said under Veritaserum that Blaise was going to stay with Malfoy. Yet, when questioned – also under Veritaserum – Malfoy had said, “ _She forced Blaise to end things between us_.” Assuming Zabini hadn’t gotten a chance to talk with Malfoy before he left for his conference or after his return, and it _would_ have been an effort finding that time, then how could Malfoy have been so sure that Zabini was ending things between them?  
  
I decided to stop by Zabini’s office before I reported back to Malfoy on my meeting with Parkinson. I was hoping to find some good news, or at least a lead, before I told him that his pheasant friend was either a gratuitous liar or in need of a good pair of distance lenses.  
  
But Zabini’s office was just as unhelpful as his home had been. The entire thing was empty. There were three file cabinets in the room that were chockfull of empty file folders. Every drawer in his desk was barren except for the long middle one, which only had a blank stack of Post-Its in it. I tried every Revealing spell I knew, and some I made up on the spot ( _Revealioyourselfius_ ), but if there was anything on them then I couldn’t find it.  
  
I caught Zabini’s boss just as he was heading out and the man swore up and down that no one had come in to remove anything since Zabini’s death, not even his wife.  
  
Or his lover.  
  
“Oh, Mr. Potter.” I turned just as the man was disappearing out the door. He lingered long enough to say, “He did leave early two weeks ago to meet with his solicitor if it helps.”  
  
I went to the most well known solicitor I knew, Archibald Courant, and after plowing through the ‘client privacy’ double-talk, I finally got him to admit to having Zabini as his client.  
  
“Did he have a will on record, Archie?” I asked, feeling more than a little ruffled. As sure as seventeen Sickles would buy a Galleon, solicitors would hinder and obstruct.  
  
“Archibald please,” he said crossly for what must have been the sixth time now. “As you are not one of the beneficiaries of Mr. Zabini’s last will and testament, I don’t see why it should matter to you, Mr. Potter.”  
  
“I just need to know who was listed as a beneficiary, Archie.”  
  
Courant pursed his lips but seemed to be relenting. He sighed heavily, opened the file on his desk and scanned the page. “His mother, Kasdeja Zabini. His wife, Pansy Zabini. Hmm, well this is odd.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Courant flipped through the next three pages swiftly. “It seems he left everything of value, his home, his vaults, his financial interests and most of his possessions to a Draco Malfoy.”  
  
I froze. “Does Mr. Malfoy know he’s the primary beneficiary of Mr. Zabini’s will?”  
  
Courant worried his lower lip. He caught me with a resolute look. “Well. I should hope so. His solicitor’s already requested the files. My office sent over a copy this morning.” He shuffled through a few more papers. “Ah. Yes, I believe Mrs. Zabini is contesting the will, claiming her husband was not of sound mind at the time of the signing.”  
  
“When _exactly_ did Malfoy’s solicitor make that request?” I asked, my voice sounding like a croak.  
  
“Yesterday afternoon, I believe.”  
  
I nodded slowly. Malfoy’s meeting that he couldn’t be late for. He’d even said that it was his solicitor he was going to see and that’s why we would have to reschedule for today at noon. I hadn’t even thought to ask what the meeting was for. He’d moved awfully fast for a grieving lover.  
  
Maybe that’s what this was all about. He’d anticipated Parkinson’s contention and he was using me to get her out of the way so he could claim his inheritance. But he was rich, what did he care for money or _things_? He’d also been sure Zabini was leaving him, and he had said he loved him, so maybe this was all a case of a lover scorned. Maybe Malfoy had been the one that’d led Zabini into that lake.  
  
I wondered if Malfoy was caught out and there was an inquest at the Ministry if I would lie for him.  


 

♕

  
  
I found Malfoy outside around the back of the manor with the help of a house-elf. Malfoy was reclining in a pool chair, basking in the sun. A pheasant was sitting in the chair next to him and they appeared to be playing cards. I resisted slapping my face to check if I was dreaming. Mostly. I thought the pheasant might be wearing sunglasses. I resolutely looked away and caught sight of Narcissa.  
  
Malfoy’s mother was gliding around the edges of the garden and rubbing purple-green leaves on her cheeks and neck. They seemed to be making her break out in hives. Malfoy must have recognized he had a visitor then because he blinked up at me when I moved into his light. He shielded his eyes and squinted.  
  
“Er, Malfoy?”  
  
He made a curious ‘hmm’ sound in the back of his throat.  
  
“What is your mum doing?”  
  
Malfoy swung his gaze around to Narcissa, as though he hadn’t noticed this barmy behavior yet. His face brightened as he figured it out. “She’s preparing for the Mungo’s Gala this weekend. She doesn’t want to look too healthy at the benefit, she thinks it’s disrespectful to the cause.”  
  
“Your mum is kind of…”  
  
“Eccentric?” Malfoy supplied. “All rich people are,” he added smugly.  
  
“You too?” I countered, amused.  
  
Malfoy looked at me deadpan. “I talk to peacocks, Potter.” He jutted an elbow towards his companion.  
  
He may have had a point. “About your pheasant friend, by the way…” I explained about my meeting with Pansy and endured his shock and disbelief.  
  
Finally he scowled, slammed his cards down and stalked away from me. I ran after him before stopping dead in my tracks to clutch at my ears. _Malfoy_ was making that awful screeching, squelching noise that made me unsure if I wanted to be sick or kill myself. Not even a moment later, a peacock appeared in front of Malfoy and the two held a screaming match in the backyard. Much to the misery of my eardrums.  
  
Malfoy was pointing his finger at the bird while the pheasant was snapping its beak and undulating its neck at Malfoy. Malfoy threw up his hands, caterwauled at the yelling bird and turned away back to me.  
  
I uncurled out of the fetal position and looked up at him. “Well?” I croaked.  
  
“ _Well_ ,” he said acidly. “I only _inferred_ that it was Pansy apparently,” he finished tightly, as though he was barely restraining himself from strangling something. “Glynny never actually _said_ Pansy’s name, or even that it was a woman.”  
  
“Then what made you think it was her?” I asked. I’d spread out on the grass now and was really quite comfortable.  
  
“Glynny said the person who did it – a man apparently – was wearing bright green robes with an emblem of a cane and snake twisted around one another on the chest.”  
  
“St. Mungo’s.” Malfoy made an encouraging sound. “What’s Pansy got to do with that?”  
  
“Pansy’s a Healer,” Malfoy said in total exasperation.  
  
“She is? Parkinson? Are you sure?” Pansy Parkinson doing something selfless? But what was in it for her?  
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Yes.”  
  
“Did he say anything else about the man?” I asked him, trying not to yawn. The grass was warm and I was dozy.  
  
“Nothing. Only that he was _colors_.” Malfoy scoffed. “Lime green, gray, beige and white but mostly lime green.”  
  
I sat up. “I’ve found something else though.” Malfoy looked intrigued and without thought clasped my forearm to help me to stand. I felt short of breath. That was something people who were friendly did for one another. “I stopped by Zabini’s office,” I told him, trying to talk normally, “and it looks as if someone’s cleared it out. I asked his boss about it and he said no one’s come by and there’s no trace of any magical signature aside from Zabini’s.”  
  
Malfoy tugged at his earlobe and held it down. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Blaise’s office, but that’s got to mean something.”  
  
I nodded. “It’s suspicious to say the least.” I decided not to mention what else I’d discovered that was suspicious, instead hoping it would all make sense soon.  
  
Malfoy hummed in agreement, still looking deep in thought. He popped himself out of it with a determined set to his eyes. “I haven’t been idle either. There’s something I need to show you.” He stalked off past his mother, who was now rolling around in a patch of green-purple leaves that were turning her skin yellow. I followed dutifully, also pretending like there wasn’t a mad lady tumbling around in a cabbage patch. He walked me down the sloping lawn to the lake’s edge. He stopped far shy of it and pointed to a spot about two and a half meters in front of him, clutching the emerald around his neck with his other hand. “See that?” he asked, sticking his chest out proudly.  
  
I tried. I really did. I walked down closer to where he was pointing and squinted. “What?”  
  
Malfoy held the emerald tighter and brought it up to his mouth the closer I moved to the edge. “That boot print,” Malfoy whined. “It’s not mine or my father’s _or_ Blaise’s.”  
  
“Huh,” I grunted, for lack of a better noise.  
  
“No one else has set foot on Malfoy land for weeks,” Malfoy said triumphantly. “This is less than two weeks old. I’ve had Taffy check.”  
  
I perked an eyebrow and asked skeptically, “Another pheasant?”  
  
Malfoy looked like he was narrowly avoiding punching me in the face. “Our house-elf, you jackarse,” he muttered murderously. I raised a doubtful brow and he ignored me entirely, walking in the opposite direction and pointing at the sky. “There’s something else. The hedges.”  
  
I refocused my gaze from blue to green and repeated blankly, “The hedges.”  
  
“Yes,” Malfoy began eagerly, “normally they’re trimmed with sharp edges, but now they’re rounded!”  
  
“Right,” I said.  
  
“Also, the larder,” Malfoy went on.  
  
“The larder,” I repeated blankly.  
  
“I suspect the man _or_ woman,” he said with his pointer finger raised in the air, “that murdered Blaise was preternaturally hungry because our larder is near empty and it’s only just been filled!”  
  
I blinked at him. “Who uses words like preternaturally?”  
  
“Anne Rice,” he fired back instantly.  
  
“What?” I said.  
  
“What?” he said.  
  
“Right,” I said. Malfoy was still staring at me, obviously waiting for something else so I added, “Ah, great sleuthing, Malfoy.”  
  
“As if I don’t already know that, Potter,” he sneered but I caught him preening not even a few seconds later.  
  
I gave a fond huff and shoved my hands into my pockets. “Oh right. Malfoy.” He looked up at me, waiting. “I brought you these too,” I told him, holding out the photos I’d found under Pansy and Blaise’s floorboards.  
  
Malfoy took them curiously and flipped the stack around to look at them properly. He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes brightening as he stared down at the images. “How did you find these?” he asked, his voice hoarse.  
  
I shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve got good eyesight.”  
  
He gave me a weak smile and bit back the speccy comment. “Thank you, Harry,” he said, his voice still a bit strangled.  
  
I wanted to touch him so badly that resisting caused me physical pain.

 

  
♕ Tuesday ♕

  
  
I waited in the entryway to Zabini’s accounting firm for Zabini’s big boss to show. It had been over an hour and all I’d been able to think of during the entirety of my stay was, _What_ an odd place to put a davenport. It was doing no one any good over there in the corner. It was too close to the receptionist’s desk to actually be of any use. What were they using that davenport for? The question was driving me mad as I was fairly certain the answer was _nothing_. I took deep, calming breaths, knowing my tendency to get a bit hot headed about these things. Finally the woman with the straw-colored hair and the dimple in her left cheek said, “Mr. Bolitho will see you now.”  
  
I breathed out a sigh of relief but couldn’t stop myself saying, “A davenport is not a decoration!” as I passed her desk. The man who met me outside his office and shook my hand looked exactly like a Bowtruckle. He was stick thin and his fingers were long and pointed. I dubbed him ‘Truckie’ in my head as I had already forgotten his name.  
  
We sat down in our respective seats of visitor and resident. “I understand you’re here with questions about Blaise Zabini? It’s a damn shame what happened to him, he was a fine worker and a fine man.”  
  
I nodded my agreement and asked perfunctorily, “Did you know him well?”  
  
Truckie shook his head. It was so big compared to the rest of his body that I was surprised he could support it. The great gray tufts that made up his crown of hair swung with it. I wanted to keep him in my pocket. “I wish I’d known him better. Hard worker though.”  
  
I nodded again. I already disliked how much I had to talk about Zabini. I certainly wasn’t interested in hearing how wonderful he was. “What was Zabini’s next project?”  
  
Truckie leaned his mouth against the tip of his steepled fingers. “Blaise preferred to dig up his own work, even took in his own clients. His accounts just kept getting bigger and better so I didn’t ask too many questions.” His fingers looked _exactly_ like a steeple considering how pointy the tips were. I hoped I wouldn’t inadvertently say that out loud.  
  
“Do you have an appointment book, or any sort of log Zabini might have been keeping? Anything of his?”  
  
Truckie pursed his lips. “Nothing I can think of off the top of my head.”  
  
I sighed, disappointed. I tore out a page of my ledger and wrote my office’s address down on it. “If you think of anything, here’s where you can find me. Feel free to send along an owl.”  
  
Truckie promised he would be in touch if he had any news and we shook hands again as I left.  
  
I waited until I got home to write:  


 

Bust

  
I made it obnoxiously big as it made me feel more productive. I stared at the snake I’d named ‘Sebastian.’ I’d doodled him in that gratuitous davenport room and I moved my head to the side as I looked at him.  


 

  
_Well, Sebastian, this is a load of bollocks_ , I told him in Parseltongue.  
  
The more I discovered about Blaise Zabini, the less I knew about him. I had no idea who’d want him dead but this open and shut case had just become a lot more complicated.  
  
I stared down at Sebastian again and congratulated his stoic silence with a, _Well said, Sebastian_. I looked over the rest of the notes I’d gathered and added:  


 

Still haven’t met a pheasant.

If they make noises that are as or more or even marginally less annoying than peacocks then I am not sure I want to.

♕

  
The post came that afternoon and, in addition to my St. Mungo’s Gala invite, I found a letter from Truckie telling me about an appointment a coworker of Zabini’s remembered him having that afternoon. It was with Helen Flockton, who turned out to be quite possibly the most boring woman alive. She owned a bread shop (a _bread_ shop) in the wizarding district of Sheffield and she was being audited. And, she told me in a quaking voice, her receipts were currently lining her many, many birdcages. I kind of wanted to kill her and then had to forcibly remind myself that I didn’t do that.  
  
I did cast an Obliviate on her. She knew nothing about Zabini and she wouldn’t stop asking me about her taxes. Wizarding tax code was not even in my top ten on the ‘Shite I Know About’ List. The first one was ‘Surviving,’ the next two were ‘Killing Voldemort’ and the last seven were ‘Quidditch’. It looked something like this:  


 

1\. Surviving (woo, go harry!)

2\. Killing Voldemort, Horcruxes  
3\. Killing Voldemort, expelliarmus  
4\. Quidditch, Chudley Cannons  
5\. Quidditch, Moutohora Macaws  
6\. Quidditch, Sweetwater All-stars  
7\. Quidditch, Sumbawanga Sunrays  
8\. Quidditch, Vratsa Vultures  
9\. Quidditch, Bigonville Bombers

10\. Quidditch, Tarapoto Tree-Skimmers

  
Sebastian was sitting just under the list and I asked him, _Looks good, yeah?_ while Ms. Flockton’s head rolled to the side, a dazed expression on her face.  
  
I had stupidly gotten Malfoy all jazzed up about the meet too and now I’d have to tell him that it had been a huge waste of time. I was not looking forward to it.  


 

♕

  
“ _How many_ birds did she have?”  
  
“Nineteen, I swear, I’m not taking the piss,” I told Malfoy for the fifth time that night. He dissolved into giggles also for the fifth time. “She kept talking about how her cat, Mufty-kins, was trying to eat Captain Snood and how she’d probably shredded a few receipts in her pursuit of him.”  
  
Malfoy was doubled over in laughter but he managed to accuse in a wheezy, breathless sort of voice, “She did not.”  
  
I crossed my heart. “I swear it.”  
  
Malfoy was cackling something that sounded like ‘too Gryffindor to lie’ but I couldn’t be sure. He was entering that high-pitched laughter where only dogs and kettles would be able to understand him. I watched him for a long time, long after he’d composed himself and was drawing normal breaths, and I felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature that day.  
  
He was so wrong for me. The antithesis of everything I was. Ambition without scruples gave you a Slytherin. I didn’t want to think about what else you had to toss aside to qualify as a Malfoy. It was stupid to ever think I could have something with him just because we were getting along for the first time in… ever.  
  
I watched the sunlight flicker over his collarbone and I wondered if Zabini had appreciated it, getting to touch him whenever he liked. It didn’t seem like a privilege many men got and I found myself snarling like a jealous idiot over the time Malfoy had shared with a dead man.  
  
Malfoy sat up suddenly and moved over towards me. He settled his forearms on my knees and looked up at me. I wondered exactly how much brandy Malfoy had had before I’d come over and I hoped it was enough to distract him from the reaction I was having to his nearness. Malfoy blinked. “Thank you for doing this, for dealing with batty old women and talking to that bitch Parkinson and sitting in davenport-abusive waiting rooms and humoring a bloke who thinks he can talk to peacocks.”  
  
“You are paying me, Malfoy,” I said, to keep from saying something stupid like, _It’s more than worth it to spend time with you_. However true that might be.  
  
Malfoy snorted as though he didn’t believe me either. “I am, aren’t I?” he said. “Still doesn’t seem quite worth it.”  
  
He reached up and closed his fingers around the emerald necklace before lifting up and slipping it off his neck. He held out the necklace to me, the one I’d seen him kiss and clutch at. I blinked back at him and his expression turned from tentative to exasperated as he shoved it into my hand. He turned away before I could say boo or, more likely, stutter out an awkward thank you. I slipped the leather cord round my neck, feeling the weight of the emerald settle in the middle of my chest.  
  
I felt better protected than if my skin had been armor plated, I was wearing Malfoy’s kiss around my neck.  
  
There was something in Malfoy’s eyes as he said smugly, “Suits you.”  
  
I slipped my hand under his chin, letting my fingers slide up his jaw and into his hair until his earlobe rested between the valley my pointer and middle finger made. His skin was every bit as soft and smooth as I’d imagined. I pulled his face up to mine and leaned in, smelling the smoke from that last cigarette on his clothes.  
  
He leaned back and was gone from the room before I’d managed to open my eyes.  


 

♕

  
I was still devastated by Malfoy’s rejection, and embarrassed and furious, when I came home to find Ginny in my kitchen, raiding my fridge. “The Harpies are in town and if I go home, I can get better food but I also get Mum complaining about my schedule, how short my hair is, how Quidditch isn’t conducive to child-bearing, not to mention—”  
  
I didn’t even bother to turn her around as I pushed her up against the fridge, pulled her head around and shoved my tongue into her mouth. She fought me off but only to turn in the cage of my arms and push her supple body up against mine. I moaned and slid my hand into her hair. “I want you so fucking much,” I told her as I moved my hand down to her jaw and stroked along the soft skin.  
  
She murmured something about wanting me too but I wasn’t listening. I had my hand clutched in her t-shirt and the skin at the small of her back and I was using that as leverage to get her legs around my waist. When I’d done it, I pressed her up against the fridge and rutted against her, pulling down her pants. She helped me to shimmy her out of them and I was inside her not even a second later while she moaned and moaned – _too feminine_ – in my ear.  
  
I braced myself with one hand while I moved the other from Ginny’s thigh up to the emerald that was jumping about on my chest. I closed my fist around it and didn’t let go. I fucked her harder and faster than I ever had before and when I came, way too quickly, I bit my lip to keep from saying the wrong name. I was still hard even after and I took her to my bedroom and fucked her twice more that night while she moaned my name in my ear and left scratches down my back.  
  
I didn’t take my hand off the emerald and the dents in my palm felt permanent from how tightly I’d been hanging onto it. I watched her as she slept next to me and I knew I had been with her for one reason and one reason only. It was the one thing she had that Malfoy didn’t.  
  
She wanted me.  


 

♕

  
Mr. Potter,

 

> A Mr. Clement Drafton owled an hour ago to follow up on a meeting he’d had the previous month with our recently departed Mr. Zabini. I understand you wanted to be kept apprised of all Mr. Zabini’s clients and meetings, as well as his comings and goings. I assured Mr. Drafton we’d get our best man out to him as soon as possible. He’s expecting you tomorrow morning, 9:00 in Derbyshire. I looked for Mr. Drafton’s file after his owl and it doesn’t seem as if he has any business with our firm. Mr. Zabini may have been wooing him over, though I have no concrete knowledge as to why the two were involved.

  


 

Kind Regards,  
Simon Bolitho

Enclosure: Please find enclosed Clement Drafton’s Floo coordinates.

 

 

♕

  
“You were Zabini’s closest mate?”  
  
Theodore Nott blew his smoke to the side. Somehow it still ended up in my face. I suspected Slytherin tactics. “I suppose I was. Though I’d say he and Draco were quite a bit closer than he and I ever got.” Nott laughed at his little joke. It wasn’t mean, which was surprising, but more light and inclusive.  
  
I was glad I’d taken off my robes due to the heat as the smoke would’ve clung to them something fierce. I pushed up my long sleeves and clarified, “You knew about the nature of their relationship then?” Nott wasn’t under Veritaserum so I was going out of my way to make my questions clear. I was also being a lot friendlier and more polite than I usually had to.  
  
Nott laughed again. “ _Everyone_ knew about the ‘nature’ of their relationship. Blaise wanted Draco for ages.” Nott screwed up his face and brushed his chin. “Since third year, I think. If Pansy had _asked_ anyone, they would have told her. It was an open secret in Slytherin that she’d somehow remained ignorant of.”  
  
“Do you know when the physical relationship actually began?” I managed not to grind my teeth saying ‘physical relationship’ but it was a close thing.  
  
Nott shrugged. “About four years ago.” He grinned. “Blaise didn’t think it was ever going to happen.”  
  
“Why not?” It seemed like what I was meant to ask.  
  
“Well,” Nott started thoughtfully before pointing at me. “You.” I stabbed my quill into my finger. I continued to stare ravenously at Nott even as blood seeped into my notebook. Nott looked a little warier of me, like he suspected I was trying to impress him by showing him my desensitization to pain. Nott shrugged. “He thought Draco was madly in love with you since you were the only thing that could grab his attention in school.”  
  
I swallowed but my throat still felt like sandpaper. “ _Was_ Malfoy in love with me?” My voice sounded like it belonged to a man at least five decades my senior and the emerald suddenly felt heavier on my chest.  
  
Nott shrugged again and I wanted to slap that gesture out of his repertoire. “All I know is, as soon as Blaise told Draco what he wanted from him, Draco was all for it. No hesitation. If he was carrying a torch, it’d been extinguished by then.”  


 

♕

  
I stared at Truckie’s letter, which was now curled around the edges from clutching it in my sweaty fist all morning. It sat on the Malfoys’ appropriately utilized davenport mockingly. I flicked it away with my fingers. “I’m stumped,” I admitted glumly.  
  
Behind me, Malfoy nodded his agreement rather grimly. We were decidedly not being awkward about the night before. Malfoy’s torch was extinguished, if it had ever even existed, and I was just waiting for the right moment with Ginny. Malfoy honestly seemed not to remember. Either that or he hadn’t been embarrassed by it, which, considering how quickly he had gotten out of the room, didn’t seem likely. And I was not going to think about all that anymore.  
  
Not even if Malfoy was laying on the floor in nothing more than a soft-looking t-shirt and a low-riding pair of trousers while he blew out smoke rings. Somehow I didn’t mind if my clothes ended up smelling of him and _his_ fags.  
  
The case. Right.  
  
I had no idea what Zabini was up to or how _any_ of the players fit in. Who was the bloke from St. Mungo’s, who was Clement Drafton and what did he want from Zabini, and how did Malfoy and his solicitor figure in? I’d already checked to be sure and Drafton wasn’t now nor had he ever been an employee of St. Mungo’s. In the search, I’d found that he wasn’t now nor had he ever been an employee of _anywhere_. I’d then gone on to check Apparition licenses, school registries, _wand_ registries and no one named Clement Drafton had ever existed in the wizarding world. “I’m meeting a ghost tomorrow. That’s the only explanation I can come up with for the complete lack of records.”  
  
“ _We’re_ meeting a ghost tomorrow,” Malfoy corrected and I turned around to face him. He’d pulled a chair over just so I could sit at, and correctly use, his davenport. He joined me by Transfiguring another from a book on house-elf ancestry. His smoke wound up towards the ceiling. It had a pungent, dark and musky sort of smell to it. I’d never smelled anything like it. When I’d asked after its origins early in our meeting, to stave off any more of my awkward humming, he’d told me that it had started out as an Armenian brand. Eventually the Belgians had taken over its production and, as a result, it smelled of both. “I’m going with you,” Malfoy added matter-of-factly.  
  
“You’re not Ministry certified,” I said dumbly, sounding rather scandalized.  
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “And here I thought you were a shade less dumb than the rest, Potter.” He had? “Based on watching you I can only assume it takes a permanently confused and doofy expression. Not to mention, a distinct lack of solved cases. I can fake the first and I can boast of the second at least until this case is over.”  
  
“I solve cases,” I muttered mulishly.  
  
“I’m coming, Potter,” he shot back.  


 

  
♕ Wednesday ♕

  
  
Malfoy and I had fallen asleep on the floor of his father’s study while looking for more information on Drafton. Lucius Malfoy’s expression had been priceless when he’d found us the next morning. He’d regained himself quickly, muttered something about not running a hostel and perfectly good beds before turning determinedly on his heel as though hoping he’d imagined it all. Malfoy rubbed at his face just as the clock on the mantle struck nine.  
  
“Shit.”  
  
We scrambled to our feet and Malfoy lit the fireplace and tossed in the Floo powder expertly. I didn’t stare at the way his hair curled where it met his collar or stand close enough to smell him. The smoke from his Belgian fags had invaded every fiber of his clothing and I wanted to bury myself in them. We’d fallen asleep on opposite ends of the room but standing so close to him while waiting for him to step into the Floo, I could see how tangled his hair had gotten on the left side. It made something in my chest do odd bouncing things.  
  
When I stepped out of the Floo, Malfoy was already shaking hands with the man who must be Drafton and apologizing for our lateness. I walked up next and echoed his sentiments. My hand was enclosed in cool, wrinkled fingers and I struck ghost off my list.  
  
Drafton looked to be well into his eighties. He was a pleasant-faced man who had a calming and agreeable presence. He walked slowly, as though he had aches and pains only age could know of, but he still seemed spry enough to more than get around on his own. I noticed his back was a bit stooped as he sat and gestured for us to take the sofa across from him.  
  
Old copies of the _Daily Prophet_ lay stacked up in random corners and the furniture was all moth-eaten and a weathered mustard yellow color. He had a carpet with tassels under his coffee table that had large chunks of it missing and magic was clearly all that was keeping said coffee table upright.  
  
He offered us a wide smile full of pearly dentures. He lingered on me for a bit. I knew from his reaction when I’d shaken his hand that he recognized me. I was eager to get him off that. “You owled… Mr. Zabini’s firm yesterday about a follow up meeting, is that correct?” What was Zabini’s boss’ name again? All I could think of was Truckie.  
  
Drafton nodded agreeably, rocking in his chair. “I was hoping we could get back to our discussion. I’m assuming you boys are friends of his?”  
  
Malfoy cleared his throat and spoke up. “Blaise—Mr. Zabini was murdered this past Thursday. We were wondering what you two might have discussed.”  
  
“Oh dear. I am sorry, son,” Drafton told him with a frown. He focused on Malfoy for a moment and his eyes were sad. Malfoy acknowledged his concern with a small, grateful smile and Drafton Conjured him a glass of water in return.  
  
“We suspect foul play,” I told him while Malfoy took a dutiful sip of water.  
  
Drafton seemed to be considering something and he finally let out a long sigh. “You’re probably right about that,” he said and his voice sounded more youthful than it had previously.  
  
“What makes you say that?” I asked critically.  
  
Drafton heaved himself out of his chair and picked up the cane that had been resting against the arm of his chair. “I should introduce myself properly I think,” he said in a weary sort of tone. “ _Finite_.”  
  
In place of the old man that had greeted us at the door, a much younger, much taller man stood in his place. This man couldn’t be more than fifty and he had large, chestnut sideburns and hair that was tied off in a ponytail. His nose was long and his mouth wide. He looked a bit like a beanpole with how tall and thin he was. He was wearing a brown waistcoat over a purple shirt and he had tattered jeans on. His eyes were a very striking blue, which was about the only thing that this man and Clement Drafton had in common.  
  
He stuck out his hand a second time and leaned towards me. He had freckles over the bridge of his nose. “Caradoc Dearborn, Mr. Potter. It’s an honor.”  
  
I was too stunned to move much but I managed to perfunctorily shake his hand. As he moved onto Malfoy, a half-remembered conversation floated up to the surface of my brain. Someone was saying in a gruff voice, _“Caradoc Dearborn, disappeared six months after the photograph, we didn't ever find his body.”_  
  
“I know you!” I realized in excitement. Malfoy looked at me askance. “You were in the Order of the Phoenix.”  
  
Dearborn looked pleased. “Yes, I was,” he said, tugging on his waistcoat proudly. He had the same affability Drafton had and whoever this man was, I didn’t think we were in any danger with him.  
  
“You’re supposed to be dead,” I told him.  
  
“I still am,” he said with a wink. He settled into the armchair across from us a second time. Malfoy was now eyeing him like a time-release hex that was set to go off any second. Dearborn gave Malfoy that same sympathetic look Drafton had. “Mr. Zabini came here looking for information about Prewitt Travers.”  
  
“Travers,” I repeated, the name sounding familiar.  
  
“He was a Death Eater,” Malfoy barked out. He narrowed his eyes. “He’s also _missing_.” He said the word like it was something nasty.  
  
Dearborn nodded approvingly. “He was in Azkaban before the breakout a few years ago. Before that, he was out for blood and I knew until he was dead I would be in his sights.”  
  
“Why was he so fixated on you?” Malfoy demanded, seeming quick-tempered and ill at ease after Dearborn’s reveal.  
  
Dearborn must have realized he’d fallen out with Malfoy and he seemed intent on being honest now. “I killed his son during the First War.” His face was drawn and he stared down at his own hands. “That’s a hard offense for even the kindest hearted person to forgive and Travers is far from that.”  
  
Malfoy didn’t allow him even a moment to wallow. “Why did Blaise want information on him?”  
  
“He was tracking him down,” Dearborn said darkly.  
  
Malfoy looked shocked and dropped his distrust for a moment. “For what purpose?”  
  
“To put him back in Azkaban of course,” Dearborn answered, seeming confused by Malfoy’s confusion.  
  
“What exactly did you tell Mr. Zabini?” I asked as Malfoy just seemed set on gaping.  
  
“All I knew,” Dearborn said simply, shooting a look at Malfoy. He shrugged his shoulders. “I told him that Travers had always been a bit off, more unstable, more prone to bouts of paranoia and the like. Smart as hell, too. With the NEWTs he’d gotten he could’ve gone into anything. He eventually chose Healing and he was doing rather well there but then He Who Must Not Be Named came into power and he gave credence to a lot of the delusions Travers had been having for years. Travers started demanding things like separate hospital wings based on blood purity and eliminating the first floor entirely.”  
  
“Why did they keep him?” I asked in disgust. Even Malfoy looked like he’d eaten something sour.  
  
Dearborn gave me a condescending sort of smile that those with age gave to those they considered ‘too young to understand.’ “He was brilliant. He was making advances that would have taken years to perfect without him. He was saving thousands of wizards and witches every day. At least until he decided that his treatments, his spells and potions, should only go to those with pure blood. Each day he was becoming a bigger and bigger zealot and St. Mungo’s finally released him from his duties and stole his unfinished notes on future potions and spells he’d been working on – a great injustice in his mind.  
  
“He went to work in the Ministry’s Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department and stayed there until the war started in earnest. He Who Must Not Be Named put him to work not long after that. He was the one chosen to go after the Muggleborn families. I suppose his most famous attack was against the McKinnons.” Dearborn drew in a sharp breath. “It drew attention mainly because of Travers’ own testimony at his trial. He believed He Who Must Not Be Named was in the right because he was certain the McKinnon family had been watching him and his kin through Foe Glasses for weeks before he finally put an end to their constant watching, watching, watching. As I said, he was an unstable man.  
  
“It was Alastor and I who were sent after them. We found Marlene first.” Dearborn looked a bit ill. “Good woman, Marlene,” he said softly. “Travers had brought his son with him to the McKinnon’s. The boy couldn’t have been more than seventeen. We had orders for Travers, Sr. We were meant to bring him in dead or alive. Both Alastor and I hoped to Stun the boy early on and get him out of the way. Sadly it wasn’t to be. The boy fought off Alastor’s Stunners and the Killing Curse that I cast meant for his father ricocheted off Travers’ Shield Charm and hit his son, Patrick. It was a damn shame. Travers broke completely and Alastor and I brought him to Azkaban ourselves. All I’ve known since then is that there’d been a break out and he’s yet to be caught.”  
  
Malfoy looked as lost as I did.  
  
I wondered how any of this fit in with Zabini’s death. I wondered a lot of things. Malfoy managed to break the thickly woven silence first. “Did Blaise say anything else while he was here?”  
  
Dearborn’s frown deepened. “Nothing more about Travers or the like. I’m sorry.” He gave Malfoy a searching look and then asked quietly, “You, you were his boy then?”  
  
Malfoy swallowed. “Sorry?”  
  
Dearborn’s smile was sad. “I asked if he ever did anything other than this, hunting down escaped First War Death Eaters.” Dearborn gave a huff of self-deprecating laughter. “He smiled, he had a very nice smile, and he said ‘I’ve got a boy.’ He sounded quite taken with him, whoever he was.”  
  
It took a moment for Malfoy to manage it but eventually he choked out a weak but heartfelt, “Thank you.”  
  
I tugged on the emerald around my neck without noticing.  


 

♕

  
I walked him to his door like a kid on his first date. He didn’t say a word, not one, and I hunched up my shoulders and shoved my hands in my pockets. I stood on his doorstep and said possibly the two worst words a person could say. “I’m sorry.”  
  
He chose a scornful scoff as his response. He tugged open the door and left it wide. I reached up to the emerald around my neck and followed him in, as he knew I would. I hadn’t hid my attraction well and I hoped he didn’t intend to have fun with it before he kicked me out. I didn’t have any optimism that he would cave to my crooked dreams and twisted hopes but I did hope he wouldn’t mock them.  
  
He was already standing by the fireplace, glass in hand. He had a smile on his face that said he meant to crook the house and it sent a shiver of unease crawling up my spine just as a slice of desire passed it on the way down. “You know death, Potter,” Malfoy said gaily, swinging his glass out in my direction. “Tell me what I’m meant to do. Tell me how to mourn like a Gryffindor.”  
  
“I don’t know this, Malfoy,” I told him quietly. I’d never lost a lover. I couldn’t pretend to know his pain. I _wouldn’t_ pretend that. I placed my hand over his on the mantle.  
  
Malfoy eyed me searchingly for a long moment before he placed his hand on my hip, leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. It started tender and slow but soon I was biting at his mouth. I wanted it red and dark. He twisted his hand in the back of my hair and pulled my head back, shoving his tongue into my mouth. The feel of him against me, of his tongue riding mine made me go soft inside.  
  
The fire was warm against my back and Malfoy was warm against my front. I wanted him so badly. I wanted to crawl out of this skin that didn’t move fast enough to accommodate all my desires. “Malfoy,” I hissed against his mouth. He slid his thigh between my legs and I was going to come before anything really happened. I pulled away and puffed out, “Not like this.”  
  
Malfoy smirked and bit the shell of my ear. “How then, Potter?”  
  
“Bed. Naked.” I didn’t really know much more about how men went about all this. I’d never even thought about it, which seemed like a massive oversight now.  
  
Malfoy grinned, the firelight glinting off his teeth. “I can arrange that.” A _pop_ later and we were in his bedroom, which I was more than grateful for. I didn’t think I could walk with my cock the way it was. Malfoy palmed me through my trousers, letting the weight of my sac settle in his palm before smoothing up the length of cock. My erection spasmed at the feel of it. “Hot and heavy,” Malfoy panted against my neck.  
  
I whimpered back at him. I was going to come. I was so fucking close and Malfoy was killing me.  
  
Malfoy helped me to pull my shirt off over my head. His fingertips brushed the emerald, lingering on my chest in a way that made my heart thump harder to meet them. Malfoy’s hand dropped to the button of my jeans and all my mental energy went towards encouraging him in his labor. Physically all I could do was stare at him with wide, awed eyes. He kept dropping one hand down to rub at my cock through my trousers and pants while he undid the button and then the zip of my jeans. Then finally his fingers were closing on me, around me, and his thigh brushed up to rub at the underside of my sac and I came.  
  
“Shit, fuck, goddamn. You’ve got to be _fucking_ kidding me.” I couldn’t _believe_ my traitorous cock. “I’m so fucking sorry, Malfoy.” I looked up at him, devastated, embarrassed and desperate. “I swear this doesn’t usually—I’m so bloody embarrassed.”  
  
Malfoy was just grinning at me. And it didn’t seem like it was meant to be mean or judgmental but more amused. I didn’t know if I liked that better or worse.  
  
Malfoy leaned in and nuzzled the sweaty hair just under my ear. “You talk like I can’t get you hard again, Potter.” He gave a breathy little laugh. “Take off your trousers.” I nodded eagerly, glad I hadn’t fucked things up beyond repair and started to pull off my pants and trousers. Malfoy’s hand stopped me. “Just the trousers.”  
  
I did as I was told and brought my pants back up. Malfoy slipped his hand down the back of them and ran his fingers up and down the crack of my arse. I arched into him, unable to believe the sensations that simple touch had awoken in me. He teased me for a long moment before pressing his thumb to my hole. I bucked into him, partly to escape the touch and partly because of how it’d made me feel.  
  
Malfoy chuckled. “You’ve never done this before.” I shook my head and clung to Malfoy’s shirt unconsciously. Malfoy kissed the side of my face and looked down pointedly. “Shoes and socks, lover boy.” I looked down too and noticed I still had the aforementioned items of clothing on and I hopped about trying to get them off. Malfoy had walked away at some point, which was better as I probably would have uncoordinatedly kicked him in the chin if he’d stuck around.  
  
“Well done,” Malfoy commended me when he returned with a bottle of lube in his hand. “Back up against the wall, Potter,” Malfoy ordered, his wolfish grin back.  
  
I didn’t really have a chance to move before Malfoy was advancing on me and pushing me into the wall he meant. Malfoy opened the lube and spread it over two of his fingers, all the while grinning widely at me. He looked slightly deranged.  
  
He slipped his hand down the back of my pants a second time and this time he didn’t bother with the teasing as he shoved his middle finger as deep inside me as it would go. “Hofuh,” was the noise I managed to make at the intrusion.  
  
Malfoy’s eyes glittered at me. “I figured you’d rather jump than wade in.”  
  
I took deep breaths while Malfoy carefully moved his finger around inside me, crooking, thrusting and turning, all building in speed until he was going as fast as his wrist would allow. “More!” I was riding his finger, moaning and groaning, writhing around on his arm like I was born for nothing else. I certainly hadn’t seen this coming. I always assumed I’d be the one doing the shoving rather than the one who had things shoved inside. But, fuck, I wanted it. I wanted it more than I could ever remember wanting anything.  
  
Malfoy finally added a second finger and my hole devoured it. I was so hungry for more, for something thicker and more substantial. God, I wanted Malfoy’s cock. I clenched and unclenched around his fingers, trying to take them deeper. “Fuck me, fuck me with them harder or give me something _more_ , goddamnit!” I was drenched in sweat and my pants were sticking to me everywhere where Malfoy’s hand wasn’t. My glasses were fogged and they kept slipping down the bridge of my nose on my slick skin. Even without that, my hair would drip sweat right down onto the lenses. I arched my back in and out rhythmically, experiencing the different angles Malfoy’s fingers grazed when I shifted. “Malfoy, please, _more_.”  
  
He brought his fingers out to ingratiate a third and I actually, literally snarled. “Your cock, you bastard, give me your fucking cock.”  
  
Malfoy’s grin bobbed in front of my face and he grabbed me around my waist and lowered us both onto the bed, grabbing my lower lip in between his grinning teeth. He unzipped and unbuttoned his own trousers, freeing his erection without lowering his slacks. He lifted his cock out through the slit in his pants and popped the lube back open with his thumbnail. He poured a generous amount while I propped myself up on the bed to watch him.  
  
He pulled my pants up off my arse and I wrapped my legs around his hips the best I could when he came close enough and he shoved inside me without hesitating. I arched into him with a howl that edged between pleasure and pain. Fuck, he felt _massive_ compared to his fingers and I wished I’d gotten a good look at his cock before he’d rammed it inside. I wriggled down on him and Malfoy let out a deep, low groan. Ooh, I liked that sound.  
  
I did it again and Malfoy’s cock pulsed inside me while his fingers dug into my arse cheek. He lifted my legs up onto his shoulders, bent me over so I was nearly split in half and started pistoning his cock into me so fast I could barely catch my breath. I was too far from the headboard to brace myself so I twisted my hands in the sheets and tried to push back into him as much as I could.  
  
But Malfoy didn’t need much help.  
  
He knew what he was doing with me as he hit some spot inside me that made my vision blank out more often than not and he certainly seemed to know what he was doing for himself.  
  
“I’m gonna—Oh fuck, Draco, I’m gonna come,” I told him as my cock bounced between my belly and pants and he hit that bundle of pleasure inside me again, and again, and again. My toes curled and my arse _clamped_ and Draco pitched forward with a growl as he pumped inside me. I think that might have been my favorite bit of all of it, feeling him come inside me. I never could’ve imagined how… _sexy_ that would feel.  
  
Malfoy pushed my legs off his shoulders and flopped down next to me on the bed. I could already feel the muscles in my thighs and stomach starting to burn from the odd position we’d been in. I looked over at him and smiled goofily. His eyes were closed and his face was serene. I touched my pinky finger to his and even that made me feel like a million.  
  
I knew then and there that I would ride this all the way to the end of the line. For better or worse. I stared up at the ceiling and thought about all the times I could’ve derailed the train before I’d ended up here.  
  
Malfoy’s breathing started to grow deep and even next to me.  
  
I was already thinking stupid, animalistic, caveman thoughts like: ‘Mine, mine, mine.’ But he wasn’t, not really, not the way I wanted him to be.  
  
He’d just lost his lover and I still wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t at his own hand that Zabini had given his swan song. Was I just in his bed to numb his pain? My pinky brushed over the soft skin of his hand. Did I care if that’s all it was? Or did I want more from him than a night of meaningless sex and a chance to touch him how I’d been imagining for days?  
  
If Zabini were still around, would he have even looked at me twice? Why did it bother me so much to think the answer might be no?

 

 

  
♕ Thursday ♕

  
  
I expected something a bit more climactic than Malfoy blinking open his eyes, his hair fuzzing the lines of his face, crust still in his eyes, and saying, “Do you really think it was Travers who killed Blaise?”  
  
I wanted to scream at him. To yell, ‘NO, you focus on US, you emotionally stunted, broken little man.’ Instead I grabbed the emerald and said, “He wears the right uniform.”  
  
Malfoy narrowed his eyes and punched up his pillow a bit. “I don’t know that I trust Dearborn.”  
  
I shrugged. “He’s the only one who’s talking, he’s also the only one who knows the story anymore. Well, besides Travers and I don’t think we’re going to get anything lucid out of him.”  
  
Malfoy sighed and learned over to reach for his fags. “But it makes no sense. What would make Blaise go after Travers on his own? He wasn’t an Auror, he wasn’t a Hit Wizard, he was an _accountant_ for Salazar’s sake.”  
  
“We’ll figure it out,” I said as he lit up his cigarette.  
  
Malfoy didn’t look like he quite believed me but he nodded anyway. He tucked himself away, rolled off the other end of the bed and got up to walk into an adjoining room. I heard the sound of a shower going a few minutes later. He did all of this as though we hadn’t just had sex the night before.  
  
It was quite impressive actually.  
  
As the day wore on, it got harder and harder for me to act as if nothing had happened though Malfoy seemed to be making some sort of sport out of it. When he’d had a bit too much of my staring, he started talking to one of his pheasants. I stuffed my own hair into my ears. It didn’t do enough to drown out those horrible, gargling noises. Finally, by half seven as we searched through registries and local history, anything that might contain a snippet of information on the Travers family line, I Spelled a literal elephant in the room.  
  
Malfoy ignored that too.  


 

♕

  
After our research yielded a big fat goose egg, I finally manned up and owled Ron for everything the Aurors had on Travers as well as any other Departmental reports he could dig up. I had been ignoring Ron and Hermione ever since this thing with Malfoy had started up… five days ago? Fuck, it felt like it’d been six months since he’d strolled into my office.  
  
While I waited for him to get back to me, I stared down at Sebastian.  
  
 _He won’t talk to me, ‘bastian_. I rested my chin on my hand. _Good point, Bas. He_ is _evil personified_. I drew Sebastian a few more rats in gratitude before Ron got back to me. Not only had he managed to get me the Auror report, but he had also gotten his hands on the Hit Wizard and Unspeakables’ reports. I didn’t know how he’d managed that. Apparently he had more friends than I’d realized.  
  
At first glance, all the reports seemed to agree on Travers’ status. A big, red Presumed Dead spanned each picture of his face. But there was something off about The Unspeakables’ file, something that made me not want to look too closely or too long. I cast a few less traditional Revealing spells and finally discovered that next to Travers’ image were the words:  


 

At large

Priority: ALPHA

  
So Travers was still alive, and the Unspeakables seemed to be the only ones who knew it. Suddenly Blaise Zabini’s empty desk and his ghost clients made a lot more sense.  


 

♕

  
It’d been raining since the early evening and the streets were wet, the streetlamps giving everything a dull glow. I was cold down to my bones and I told myself it was due to the weather. The emerald around my neck felt like ice. I could have his body if I wanted it. I just couldn’t have anything else. I buried my face down into my own shoulder. I still smelled like him.  
  
And, _Godric_ , did I want his body. But he’d taught me to be greedy and I needed so much more than that now. We couldn’t be solely physical, not when I felt we had the potential to be so much more than that.  


 

♕

  
Ginny was waiting for me when I finally got back to my flat. I took her on the kitchen table and only once snapped at her to ‘stop being so squishy.’  
  
I studied her critically, the sheet rising and fall with her somnolent breaths. Her left breast wasn’t quite covered and I stroked the ridge of her nipple. She shivered and then fell still.  
  
There was nothing wrong with her. In fact, there was not one thing about her I would change. I just couldn’t be less interested in her if I tried. She wasn’t what I wanted and I knew now that she never would be. The realization hit me hard. She’d always been my dream for the future and now I didn’t want the perfect life I’d had planned out for us in the back of my mind since I was sixteen. She was lost to me and I felt a bit like I was mourning her, even as she lay next to me with a smile on her sleeping face.  
  
“Well, isn’t this cozy.”  
  
My blood ran cold and I looked up slowly, not daring to believe it.  
  
And my stupid brain was chirping, _but he came, he wants me! Oh my god, he wants me! Why am I with_ her _?_  
  
I sat up, holding the sheet over my privates. “Malfoy, this isn’t—” But Malfoy was already storming away, taking books off the bookshelves and putting cracks in my walls as his magic lashed out for him. I wasn’t stupid enough to think all of it was for me. I hadn’t seen him emote at all since Zabini’d died and we’d spent large portions of time together since then.  
  
I jumped out of bed, pulled on my pants, the emerald swinging, and darted out after him.  
  
A picture shattered next to my head and I barely ducked in time. Apparently not talking about it didn’t mean it didn’t exist. ‘You didn’t want me’ I was tempted to say but I couldn’t think of anything that would make me sound more pathetic. I wasn’t certain he would have understood if I’d debased myself enough to do it anyway.  
  
He was selfish that way. But that was what being a Malfoy was and considering I’d spent my formative years obsessing over a Malfoy, I had a pretty good understanding of that. I knew what I was getting when I’d asked for this and I wasn’t about to complain. Besides, I was selfish too. The fact that I was after him at all spoke to that.  
  
I wasn’t about to let him feel betrayed over a relationship he wouldn’t let me have though. I knew he wanted to vent after Zabini and he could even do that at me. Just not about _this_.  
  
“You make these grand overtures and—” His face twisted up with rage.  
  
“Were you even ever interested?” I shot back. That shut him up. “I was just a warm body for you. I knew that going in.”  
  
Malfoy’s chin rose defiantly. “That doesn’t excuse you.”  
  
I shook my head. “I’m not trying to make excuses. I was proving to myself—”  
  
“Proving what?”  
  
“That I’d be fine when you finished with me. I had a gorgeous girl just waiting in the wings and all I had to do was decide I wanted her.”  
  
Malfoy looked like he’d taken a punch. “I’m pleased you’ve worked it all out then.”  
  
I grabbed his arm as he turned away. “She wasn’t blond enough. Firm enough. And her name never matches the one in my head.”  
  
Malfoy tensed and I could tell the only thing keeping him in that room was my hand on his arm. “I don’t want—” he started in a hoarse voice.  
  
I let him go and ran my hand through my hair. “I know! I know. Don’t you get it, that’s _why_ I had her in my bed.” I gestured back to my bedroom. “If you’d wanted to be there then I never would’ve looked twice.”  
  
Malfoy looked away and said in a small voice, “You didn’t give me a chance to say, one way or another.”  
  
“I knew the answer, even if you didn’t.” I answered in a voice that was just as small.  
  
When he slipped out the door, quiet and soundless as though trying to remark on what little effect he’d had, I felt smaller than I ‘d ever felt in that cupboard under the stairs.  


 

  
♕ Friday ♕

  
  
Thankfully I had the perfect ammunition to keep Malfoy on speaking terms with me. I knew more about Zabini.  
  
“You have to remain civil until the case is finished.”  
  
Malfoy’s face was hard as stone. “Which means when exactly?”  
  
“When Travers is back in Azkaban.”  
  
Malfoy’s eyes shot to mine. “You have proof he did it then?”  
  
I nodded. “I’m a lot closer to it with this.”  
  
“All right. I swear it. I’ll remain civil until our business is done.”  
  
“Excellent.” I concealed my relief and handed Malfoy the files Ron had given me. “Travers was only ‘Presumed Dead’ in the Auror and Hit Wizard files,” I told him eagerly, sitting in the chair at his elbow as he spread the files out over the davenport. “The Unspeakable files copied the letterhead in one too many places in an effort to create uniformity.” I pulled that file and placed it on top. “If you break the Secrecy charms then, ta-da,” I flipped to the first page, “he’s labeled as ‘At Large, Priority: Alpha,’” I said as I pointed at the words triumphantly.  
  
“Blaise’s high profile, out-of-company clients…” Malfoy started, looking up at me for confirmation.  
  
“The Ministry,” I finished, nodding. “It’s no wonder he was bringing in such huge revenue. The entire Ministry of Magic was doing its accounting through them.” Malfoy blinked as though he expected me to keep on and I smiled at him. “You’ve got the Quaffle, let’s see you fly with it.”  
  
Malfoy looked stymied for a moment before he brightened up. “That’s why he made sure to keep one or two low profile clients and to _specifically_ tell his coworkers about them…”  
  
“Like that horrible Flockton woman,” I inserted with a shiver. “So everyone could see he was doing the job right.”  
  
“Even though he wasn’t,” Malfoy was smiling now, “he was an Unspeakable.”  
  
I smiled back at him. “He was an Unspeakable.”  
  
Then Malfoy asked the question that had been plaguing me. “Travers has been off the map since the end of the Second War. So why is he at Priority Alpha now?”  


 

♕

  
“There’s nothing,” Malfoy sniped, closing what was probably his hundredth book that night. Morning? I didn’t even know anymore. “Dearborn has been in hiding since the end of the _First_ War, the McKinnon family has been entirely eradicated and Mad-Eye Moody died during the Second War. There was no one else who ever slighted Travers, even marginally. At least no one’s kept a record of it if they have.”  
  
I stared down at Sebastian. _I love him._  
  
“Ugh.”  
  
“What?” I asked.  
  
“Parseltongue,” he said with a flinch. “The Dark Lord ruined that for me I’m afraid.”  
  
“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” I told him honestly. I yawned and added, “He’s a paranoid, Malfoy. _Everyone’s_ slighted him.” I tapped my finger against my notebook. My eyes were going funny and the sentences were starting to blur together.  
  
“Yes, well, paranoid or not, I don’t think there’s anything you could even exaggerate into an issue in any of these books,” Malfoy said with disgust, closing another tome that made dust swoosh out of it.  
  
“There must be,” I said, cracking my neck, “he thought _St. Mungo’s_ was out to get him.”  
  
“Salazar, that’s it!” Malfoy exclaimed. “Potter, we’re idiots! It’s St. Mungo’s. Of course it’s St. Mungo’s. The Gala is tomorrow night. It’s projected to be the hospital’s most widely attended event in two centuries!”  
  
My own invitation was still sitting on my office desk. “That’s it, Malfoy, you’re a genius!”  
  
Malfoy was grinning when he froze abruptly. “Potter, the larder. I remember Mother reading the menu choices, veal continental and roasted pheasant.”  
  
“Pheasant?”  
  
“That’s what we had _stocked_ in the _larder_. He’s done something to the food.”  
  
Malfoy had actually been _right_ about the larder? “Shite. Shite. Shite.” I checked my watch. “The Gala starts in less than twenty-four hours.”  
  
“What do we do?”  
  
I couldn’t believe how quickly he deferred to my command but he did it as though it were the most natural thing in the world. It made me wonder for the umpteenth time what it would have been like to’ve had him behind me during the war. “You’re asking me?”  
  
“We’ll fix it your way, Potter,” Malfoy said. “Isn’t that just about all you’re good for?”  
  
I chose to ignore that last bit. “We tell as many people as we can,” I sad resolutely. As we made to leave, I turned to Malfoy and added with my eyebrows low, “And we find Dearborn.”  
  


 

  
♕ Saturday ♕

  
  
By half six the next evening, the Gala was starting and Malfoy and I were in position while Mathers – the Unspeakable in charge – sent us confusing hand signals. I turned, feeling something hot on my neck. It turned out to be Malfoy’s stare. “Er, Malfoy?”  
  
Malfoy, to my amazement, blushed. He turned away, scowled, turned back and said, “For half-arsed, last minute planning, we might actually pull this off. You were rather… extraordinary to watch in action, Potter. I think I might finally understand why you do this.”  
  
My legs were starting to cramp up but I suddenly stopped noticing it. I opened my mouth but a man with wild gray hair, coke bottle glasses and a lime green St. Mungo’s uniform showed up outside the hospital’s staff entrance and ruined the moment. Caradoc stood just outside, smoking a kretek and looking bored with the world.  
  
Travers looked like he might foam at the mouth. He drew out his wand slow and he taunted sing-song into the darkness, “I knew I’d find you before long, Caradoc.” He wagged his finger back and forth while Caradoc tried to identify where exactly Travers was in the dark. “You couldn’t hide forever. You’ll pay for what you’ve done to my boy.”  
  
Caradoc stood up taller. He was still trembling ever so slightly. “You dragged Patrick into the war, Prewitt. You’re to blame for his death.”  
  
“Lies!” Travers screeched, lashing his wand down, a Stinging Hex blossoming over Caradoc’s chest. He held it on level with Caradoc’s forehead. “It was your curse, Dearborn.”  
  
“And it was you it was meant for!” Caradoc screamed back, unconcerned with the non-too-deep injurty, just as Mathers gave the order. I grabbed Dearborn and tugged while Malfoy hit Travers with a hefty _Incarcerus_. Travers flailed but didn’t go down. The staff door burst open and rammed into Travers’ shoulder, toppling him. Parkinson stood in the maw.  
  
“Well done, Pans,” Malfoy said with a monumental grin.  
  
“What? You hate each other,” I felt compelled to point out, feeling a bit like I’d been slipped something.  
  
Parkinson smirked. “He _was_ sleeping with my husband,” she admitted. “ _But_ he also declined his inheritance.” She walked over to Malfoy and enfolded him in an embrace, breasts first. “Besides, I did tell him that Blaise wanted nothing to do with him and that we were moving to the Orient to raise chickpeas.”  
  
“That’s why you were meeting with your solicitor!” I exclaimed stupidly. _And_ why he had thought Zabini was ending things.  
  
Malfoy and Pansy shot me simultaneous looks of disgust and exasperation.  
  
Malfoy frowned a bit as he stared down at a struggling, roped Travers. “It’s really not that hard defeating the bad guy when they’re half-mad and terrible at evil plots. I’m a little disappointed actually.” Malfoy caught my eye. “Was this how it felt with the Dark Lord all this time?”  
  
I rolled my eyes and agreed mordantly, “Yeah, Malfoy. It was just like this.” His mouth twitched and I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach.  
  
Malfoy toed Travers onto his back. He squatted at his side and told him softly, “You didn’t have to kill him.”  
  
Travers snarled. “Did, had to. I killed him in your backyard, little one. Ran into the bushes, mussed up the line but I fixed that. You richies never notice what the peasants do.”  
  
“Pheasants?” I repeated bemusedly.  
  
“Potter!” Malfoy all but squealed.  
  
I gave a sarcastic nod. “I heard.”  
  
“Rounded edges, rounded edges!” he chanted, grinning.  
  
Pansy perked a brow, watching Malfoy uneasily like she suspected he might be mad too.  
  
Caradoc and an Unspeakable named Graham hoisted Travers to his feet and led him away while he twisted in their grips and said in an infantile, sing-song tone, “I won’t. Can’t and don’t. They take your thoughts and make them gray. Make them bleed until they all go away. You see what they do, they take what is you and they make you them.”  
  
“With their phlegm!” Graham added in a much more booming tone.  
  
“Stop rhyming I mean it!” called an Unspeakable from across the lawn.  
  
Mathers’ face was as bright as a tomato. “Anyone says it and I will _end_ you,” he warned through hissed teeth. The distraction was enough for Travers to knock into Graham with his shoulder, elbow Dearborn in the stomach and make a run for it.  
  
“Inconceivable!” Graham shouted after him.  
  
Caradoc pulled out his wand and said in a robust sort of voice, “ _Avada Kedavra_.”  
  
We all watched as Travers fell to the dirt like a stone. Caradoc still looked a bit stunned as he lowered his wand. The Unspeakables moved quickly and Mathers had Travers’ body gone and his men clearing out within moments. As the flurry of activity began to die down, I found myself standing next to Dearborn. “I suppose you can reclaim Caradoc Dearborn again.”  
  
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I don’t know I will. I quite like Clement Drafton.” He looked down at me with a wan smile. “He’s never killed anyone.” Caradoc took a deep breath, stuck out his hand and said, “I don’t think I’ll be seeing you again, Mr. Potter.”  
  
“I hope not,” I told him as I shook his hand for the last time.  
  
“Potter!”  
  
I turned around to find Malfoy running towards me. Mathers caught up to me before Malfoy could and he addressed us both. “Well done, Potter. Malfoy,” he said, shaking our hands in turn. “I’ll be recommending the Minister put you up for Orders of Merlin on this.”  
  
“Thank you, sir,” we said together.  
  
Malfoy waited for Mathers to get out of range before he faced me and admitted, “This was… impressive, Potter.” He grinned.  
  
I grinned back. “Thanks, Malfoy.”  
  
I was having trouble letting the moment end, afraid he’d go back to hating me now that the case was solved and Travers was no more. To stave off the moment, I insisted on Apparating him back to the manor.  
  
“Goodbye, Potter,” he said when we reached the door.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
Malfoy didn’t turn around.  
  
I watched the back of his head. I kept everything so bottled up – _just like him_ , I realized –and I took great pleasure in smashing that bottle to pieces.  
  
“I know you’re emotionally crippled and spoilt and you’ve got more baggage than the whole of the Hogwarts Express, and you’re _selfish_ and you can be insanely awful and small-minded at times and that’s all without the fact that the man you love was just murdered. I know all that, I do. But I love you anyway.” I laughed at the absurdity of that fact and Malfoy turned around now and my arms were still stretched out wide from when I was talking about the train.  
  
I lowered them down by my sides, feeling giddy and stupid and smiling so wide my face hurt.  
  
“Because that’s who you are. You’re all those things and you’re also so goddamn beautiful inside and out that I don’t know how I’ve managed this long without you. But better than all that, Malfoy, better than _all of that_ , is how you make me feel about myself. I know I don’t need to do all of _this_ anymore,” I gestured to the whole of the world but what I really meant was hiring myself out as some kind of rogue Auror. “You have this knack for making me feel far more important than _this_ ever has because I know you wouldn’t be hanging around me if I wasn’t some kind of special. Even when all I’m doing is talking about some lonely woman’s birds.” I offered him a self-conscious grin. “You make me feel _good_ and kind of… invincible.” Malfoy’s eyes were still shadowed and I struggled to make him understand. “People have always wanted me to lead but only you have ever made me feel like a leader.”  
  
I shrugged my shoulders, at a loss for words but also feeling kind of invincible in that moment.  
  
“So I just… I love you, because of your issues and in spite of them. And I know that scares you and that’s okay. Because I am so _not_ scared. I’m exhilarated and _ready_ and I don’t think that goes away when you get there first. I think you just get there and then you have to wait. And I can get good at waiting.”  
  
Malfoy was staring resolutely out at some black patch of grass so as not to meet my eyes. “I don’t want you to wait,” he said and he sounded so sure.  
  
I nodded, unable to stop myself for a moment as I understood what he meant so well. “I know. I know you don’t want to feel responsible if I end up waiting and you never show, or if I feel like the main event wasn’t worth the days or years of anticipation. But _I’m_ choosing to wait, Malfoy, and you can’t stop me just because it might not all turn out perfectly. Right now, right here, you are the future I’m choosing. So it doesn’t have to _be_ now.”  
  
I watched Malfoy’s Adam’s apple bob up and down in a slow dance. “There’s nothing left, Potter.”  
  
My mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “I don’t believe that. But I’m also not asking for a guarantee.” I moved into his eye line and caught has gaze. “Maybe you could think about it. Just a bit.” His eyes skirted away and I lifted his chin with the side of a crooked finger. “Think of having a drink to start. That’s not much of a promise, is it?”  
  
Malfoy’s gaze was unreadable. “You love to complicate things, don’t you, Potter?”  
  
“I have a certain affinity for it at least,” I admitted. I watched him as he walked into the manor without looking back and I knew I’d told him the truth. I _could_ get good at waiting because while I knew we’d never be the perfect couple, I thought we might just be the right one.  
  


 

  
♕ Epilogue: Nine Days Later ♕

  
  
I was right. I had gotten good at waiting. I’d went out and bought Malfoy’s Belgian-Armenian cigarettes two days after he’d walked out of my life. I’d leave them to burn in empty ashtrays until my whole flat smelled of him. I also held onto Malfoy’s emerald like a lifeline most days. I’d gotten an exact replica of the Malfoys’ davenport and I now used it in my living area to write letters… to Malfoy. Which I did not send. I now had thirty-seven stored in the bottom drawer… and eighteen in the drawer above it. So I was waiting and I was _fantastic_ at it.  
  
Hermione couldn’t quite wrap her head around the fact that my life had gone to hell in a week. She loved the new davenport though. Ron was still trying to grasp the idea that Ginny and I were finished. _Really_ finished this time around. And Ginny was having trouble finding her goodwill through the ‘my queer boyfriend shagged me and pretended I was a Death Eater’ haze. But I knew she’d get there. I grinned at my loyal friends and lit up a fag I would not smoke. I placed it in the dip in the ashtray with a little sigh of relief. Hermione asked if I was all right.  
  
To which I replied, “I’m waiting. And I’m damn good at it.”  
  
Hermione and Ron were sharing a look that those men in white lab coats would have _loved_ when an eagle owl swooped in through my open window and dropped a letter on my head.  
  
I plucked it off and stared at the seal. It was convoluted and self-important with a great, grand M smack in the center. I tore it open.  
  
By the time I reached the end, my grin had spread so wide it was now trying to include my ears in the expression and I started from the top all over again, feeling better than I had in ages.  
  
 _Dear Pitiful Potter,_  
  


 

> _You mentioned something about a drink. It was during that pathetic and feeble little announcement of your woeful and unrequited love to a bloke who’d just lost his… person. I don’t know if I remarked at the time what spectacularly horrible timing you have. I’m sure you remember it well however. I’m willing to meet you at the Leaky Cauldron at seven tomorrow for a rival, turned business associate, turned grudging acquaintance dinner if you’re still interested. Don’t get confused about this dinner’s meaning, Potter. I am taking pity on you because you are weak and you make me sad._

  


 

_Awaiting your owl (not exclusively or anything like that),  
Draco Malfoy  
P.S. I know you’ll need help on your cases regardless. You were rather hopeless without me._

  
He sounds smitten, doesn’t he?


End file.
